Gisha squinted as she stepped into the larger, darker chamber. A score of figures stood silhouetted before an entoptic Pholin disc. The woman’s gaze scanned up a thin figure looming over all the others. The figure turned, a silver rapier balancing lackadaisically in one hand. A glimmer of backlight shone amidst two black pools framing a shrouded face. Gisha surged with realization. Her heart skipped and her chest burst with fluttering palpitations as she recognized the Legatus. The Telahus Maris was nearly unmasked, her forbidden facade almost exposed to the world. She glimpsed the flawless brow, beautiful strands of charcoal locks, the corners of bright facial patterns, not unlike the Quos that surrounded her.

And then the face was gone, censored through her implants in the very moment that a pin struck the back of Gisha’s eye sockets. She grunted and heaved backwards, catching herself on the fall of her boot. The implants in her head throbbed with pain. A heat built in her skull. The Quos were staring at her with an unusual ferocity, their artificial eyes aglow with interrogative protocols. The first line of defense. The Legatus, even here in her home, was surrounded by exaFLOPS of processing power that her Quodilus acolytes could access at the blink of an eye.

“Good turn to you, Captain” Whispered a soothing, synthetic voice in Gisha’s augments. The Pholin disc rippled as the words flowed like the most exquisite silk through Gisha’s head. “Neptune’s grace upon thee. I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the midst of my sermon. We would gladly entertain you in a few minutes.”

The Quos relaxed a fraction of an inch, much to Gisha’s relief. The pressure on her eyes eased slightly, though the sense of bitter scrutiny remained. _Gats_, she thought. If this was how Celio’s sisters behaved in front of their Legatus, it was no wonder she was so rigid.

Gisha’s focus returned to the now pixilated face of Albina. “Of course, Legatus. I will… wait in the corridor.”